


how to stop being what you are

by quantumducky



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Altered States, M/M, MAG004 Page Turner, Making Out, Secret Santa Treat, Spiral!Gerard Keay, a little light stabbing, canon-typical mary keay's terrible parenting, michael doesn't have human anatomy idk what to tell you, weird eldritch not-really-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: Michael hummed and considered him. “You don’t have to go back, you know. My offer still stands.” The out-of-place door opened just a crack, apparently under its own power.Like every time Michael had brought this up before, Gerry scoffed. Unlike those other times, though, he didn’t reiterate that he wasn’t nearly that desperate, and he didn’t turn and walk away.Or: Michael offers a way out. It's just tempting enough to be worth the risk of accepting.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael
Comments: 14
Kudos: 313
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	how to stop being what you are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [certifieddyke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifieddyke/gifts).



Gerard Keay leaned against the wall of a building a few hours before sunrise, smoking, a metal wastebasket containing the smouldering remains of  _ Ex Altiora _ on the ground at his feet. He probably looked very odd to anyone passing by, so it was a good thing no one did. That also meant there was no one around to see him wince and squint at his palms, as he had, in fact, burned himself a bit carrying the thing down. Had to be done, though, he couldn’t risk leaving it with the poor sap who’d had the book. His mother was not going to be happy when she found out what happened to it. Gerry decided he’d stay out a while longer.

As he had that thought, the creak of a door opening came from his left, where there had  _ not _ been any doors the last time he checked.

“Michael,” he greeted, tossing his cigarette in the wastebasket on the grounds that it would not save him from the headache he was about to be gifted.

“Gerard,” the Distortion replied. It arranged its form in an approximation of the way he was leaning against the wall, almost playfully imitating a normal posture, but with far too many joints for the illusion to hold. “Are you doing anything interesting?”

He kicked the wastebasket. “You missed all the action, really. Burned a book, freaked a guy out. Only thing left now is explaining why I left with five thousand pounds and came back with nothing to show for it, not that it really  _ matters _ what I say.”

Michael hummed and considered him. “You don’t  _ have _ to go back, you know. My offer still stands.” The out-of-place door opened just a crack, apparently under its own power.

Like every time Michael had brought this up before, Gerry scoffed. Unlike those other times, though, he didn’t reiterate that he wasn’t nearly  _ that _ desperate, and he didn’t turn and walk away. He just held up the back of a hand and pointed out: “Pretty sure I’m already taken, Michael.”

“That  _ does _ make things a little more  _ difficult,” _ Michael agreed. Its fingers folded around his hand, too long and strangely textured, but he was used to it by now and didn’t pull away, allowing himself to be examined. “But not  _ impossible. _ You only have to know what you want.” It released his hand and was suddenly right in front of him, despite not appearing to move.  _ “Do _ you know what you want, Gerard?” It cast a disparaging glance at the ashes of  _ Ex Altiora, _ and Gerry found himself mentally answering: he may not have known what he wanted- never thought about it much, or had any actual choice- but he  _ was _ sure whatever he was doing now wasn’t it.

Maybe his thoughts showed through on his face. Michael smiled wide and held out a hand, normal-looking for now as long as he didn’t look too closely.  _ Oh, what the hell, _ he thought to himself, and took it.

It didn’t lead him through the door. It was important, apparently, that he be the one to walk through himself. But it also didn’t let go of his hand as he stepped over the threshold, and he thought he might have appreciated that. It wasn’t steadying or anything, but it was at least familiar, which counted for something.

Inside the Distortion’s corridors was… it was a lot. Nothing looked wrong at first, but it never  _ stayed _ how it looked at first. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there- if he was even standing, how could he be sure there was actually a floor to stand  _ on, _ how could he know he was upright if he wasn’t entirely confident of which direction  _ up _ was- when Michael got his attention, with a cough and its cold sharp fingers on the back of his neck. He focused in, decided not to worry about their surroundings if he could help it. Just look at Michael. Still an awful eyestrain of a being, but one he was used to.

“There you are,” Michael practically purred. “Are you ready? I hope you aren’t having second thoughts. But… if you were, you’d need to say something now. I don’t think you’ll be able to leave, if you stay much longer.”

He… hadn’t really been expecting it to  _ let _ him back out if he changed his mind, honestly. That, somehow, was what gave him a little more confidence in his decision. He straightened up and shook his head. “No. How do we do this?”

_ “We? _ I’m not going to do anything, Gerard. This part… it’s going to have to be you.” Michael laughed, and its face blurred and went half to static in his vision like an old TV with bad reception. “It’s easy, really. All you have to do is open your mind… let it in. Let yourself become… not yourself.” It frowned slightly. “I do hope some of you is left, in the end. I have enjoyed your company. It would be a shame to see you unmade  _ too _ completely.”

“Yeah, uh, I would also rather that didn’t happen, thanks.” Gerry took a deep breath- it didn’t help much, the air here was as wrong as everything else- and looked around. “Okay. Open my mind.”

And he tried. He took it all in, as much as he could, all the bright colors and impossible angles and contradictions, tried to see past the lies his senses told him to whatever lay underneath, and he was getting close, he could  _ feel _ it, he almost  _ understood- _

and then he was flat on his back on what seemed to be the ground, feeling like his head was about to split itself open as a slight trickle of blood came from his nose, and Michael was leaning over him looking just a bit concerned and more than a little exasperated.

“You’re doing it wrong,” it informed him, like  _ that _ wasn’t already obvious.

He sat up, swiping the blood away with the back of his hand and wincing. “Yeah, thanks, I noticed. You wanna try giving some better instructions?”

Michael offered him a hand, and it cut into his own slightly when he used it to pull himself up. Only slightly, and the cuts healed up of their own accord while he wasn’t looking, but it still hurt. He got the feeling it was actually annoyed with him.

“I don’t know what part of what I said made you think you should try  _ Seeing _ it,” Michael huffed. “It was very uncomfortable for me, you know. I told you to stop, but you didn’t hear me.”

…Oops. Still, he maintained it was Michael’s fault for being vague. And he was too busy having an awful headache to be very sorry. “Well, I don’t know what to  _ do, _ then. What the hell  _ does _ ‘open your mind’ mean?”

“It means  _ relax,” _ Michael sighed. “It means… stop trying to  _ understand _ everything. Let  _ go.” _ Its hand brushed his face, careful this time not to injure, as he glanced around again and only felt his eyes water as the pain in his head increased. “I suppose,” it said, “I might be able to help just a  _ little,” _

_ and _

_ then _

Michael is close, so close in front of him, and his back is against something and he thinks he’s still standing up but it’s hard to think clearly about boring things like that when Michael is so  _ close. _

“You’re so  _ tense, _ Gerard,” it tells him. “This won’t do at  _ all.” _

“Oh,” he manages. “You going to- fix that?”

It smiles too-wide and hungry. “Yes.”

In another moment of reckless impulse, he leans in, puts a note of challenge in his voice. “Get on with it, then.”

Its- it doesn’t  _ have _ a mouth, not really, but whatever is there crashes against Gerry’s and it certainly performs the function of one well enough. He tastes static as his eyes fall shut, buzzing on his tongue and filling his mouth. It doesn’t let up, relentlessly pressing closer, and when his lungs start to protest he breathes in Michael instead of air. That’s the moment his legs get weak and he slumps, held up by the not-wall behind him and hands that aren’t really hands covering his torso.

“Good,” Michael hums into his mouth, disrupting the static in a swirl of currents and new sensation. He shivers, tries to remember words. He’d like to be a little snarky right now. At least keep  _ some _ of his dignity, if the Distortion’s plan is really just to push him up against a wall and take him apart with whatever it passes off as a mouth and it’s  _ working. _

It pulls back and he does his best, “Are you-?” but that’s as far as he gets, cutting off with a sharp inhale as it leans in and starts nipping at his throat, biting and sucking bruises into the sensitive pale skin. Sharp teeth, and too many of them, and he suspects it might be drawing blood again and decides he doesn’t care right now. The not-a-room spins around them, and he can’t be sure of whether that’s metaphorical.

He gasps at the sudden chill of a hand pushing his shirt up, splaying out over his bare skin, burning-hot and cold at the same time. When his eyes fly open in surprise he realizes their surroundings aren’t pretending to be corridors anymore. The wall is still at his back, but there is no wall, they’re standing on what isn’t a floor. He can’t quite find it in him to care. None of it  _ matters. _ He grabs Michael’s- grabs  _ Michael _ and pulls it back up to kiss him again, as his shirt ceases to exist as such and its other hand wraps almost possessively around his waist.

Michael laughs, and the vibration runs through his entire body as if he’s a tuning fork it’s just struck. The static curls in his mouth, in his lungs, fills his brain and mixes with the arousal building lower down. “Oh,  _ very _ good,” it says appreciatively, and the only response he can manage for a few seconds is something much too close to an outright whine, low and frustrated.

_ “Michael,” _ he grits out. Its palm is flat against his abdomen and it’s too much, with how it’s pressing more of that tingling heat into him, to just stand here and do nothing about. Hardly thinking about it, he reaches for the button of his jeans.

“Ah, ah.” Michael swats his hand away- for good measure, captures both his wrists and pins them to his chest. “We have to be  _ patient, _ Gerard. You aren’t  _ ready _ yet.”

He scowls, although it’s getting increasingly difficult to  _ see _ Michael in the first place, breathing hard and pushing his hips up in a half-unconscious attempt to find friction despite the hand keeping him still. “Oh, fuck you- if you, if you want me- to- to  _ relax, _ then maybe- maybe you shouldn’t  _ tease _ s-so much.  _ Shit.” _ It’s  _ hard _ to sound angry properly when Michael  _ keeps _ teasing, giving a little more attention to his neck and then moving down to spread that way too enjoyable pins-and-needles sensation further, brushing over his nipples. “Michael,” he starts, and then forgets whatever he was going to say and decides that’s a complete sentence on its own. There’s no controlling his voice anymore, much as he’d like it to  _ not _ sound so breathless and- and  _ needy. _

The hand it hasn’t dedicated to stop him touching himself drifts, ghosting up his spine to settle at the back of his head. Michael tugs at his hair, not ungently. “Look up, now.”

Gerry does. What he sees is- it’s… He can’t understand it. He can’t even actually see it, not clearly, his vision blurs and it all spins around and twists in on itself too quickly to comprehend. But… he doesn’t  _ need _ to understand it, maybe. Maybe that’s the- the  _ perfection _ of it, that he doesn’t have to constantly be trying to understand everything. He stops trying, and feels so much lighter for it.

Another touch from Michael brings him back, a reminder that he  _ has _ a physical form  _ to _ touch, that all these feelings and thoughts are attached to  _ someone, _ which is him. Gerard Keay. Michael is examining one of his hands, frowning at the eyes tattooed on his knuckles. They look sort of angry, a thought that makes him suppress a slightly hysterical laugh, because that makes no sense, it’s not like they’ve actually  _ changed _ any, but they  _ do. _ Well, they’ll just have to  _ deal _ with it, won’t they?

“We can do something with these,” Michael decides. It hums, leans in and trails a finger across the one over his heart. 

He squirms at the touch- for a moment there he almost forgot how worked up and sensitive Michael had him, but no, yeah, there it is. It traces the tattoo and then does  _ something, _ he doesn’t quite see, but it feels  _ incredibly _ strange and intimate, flips some kind of switch in him, and he shivers and nearly just falls to- whatever there is here instead of a floor. Michael catches him before that can happen, though, props him up again and tilts his head to look into his eyes. Gerry doesn’t know what he sees there- isn’t even really looking back, increasingly dazed and distracted, drawn to the spiralling fractal shapes in the air- no, that  _ are _ the air around them. But whatever Michael sees, it must be something good. After searching his face for a moment it grins and moves in again, crowding him against the nothing-in-particular at his back.

“Hold on.”

He doesn’t ask why, just nods and grips where Michael’s shoulders might be, if Michael were currently bothering with pretending to  _ have _ that sort of thing. It kisses him again, and he wonders vaguely if “kissing” is really enough of a description for what Michael is doing, breathing the essence of itself into him so he’s too dizzy to even  _ care _ whether he’s still standing,

and suddenly, with no moment of transition he can remember, it’s no longer in front of him but  _ everywhere. _ The static, closing in around him and filling every crack broken open inside him, consuming all his senses until there’s nothing else- he has never been more afraid, or happier. He thinks he might make a sound, maybe, high on that terrible ecstasy, and then he doesn’t think  _ anything _ as-

he, as he is, stops being.

* * *

A door opens. Time has passed, in the “real world,” since that same door last closed, but what steps out is beyond caring about that sort of thing, now. Something that was and hasn’t yet decided if it still  _ is _ Gerard Keay walks out of the Distortion’s corridors and looks around, followed closely by Michael. The newly fledged avatar’s first successful attempt at manifesting the door has brought them to Pinhole Books- never a  _ home, _ in any real sense, but a familiar place regardless. The place hasn’t changed, but the perception of it has, and it seems smaller.

The thing that might be Gerard Keay turns and examines its own reflection in the shop’s window. It looks much the same as before, if you don’t look very closely. If you  _ do _ look closely, the small tattoos which used to be eyes have twisted and warped themselves into another shape, one that changes the more it’s observed and can never quite be pinned down as one thing or another. The long hair is loosely braided back, pinned into intricate, perplexing swirls- it took no little help from Michael to get it that way, but the resulting look is definitely worth it- and of course, the ends left free have curled themselves all over the place. It’s not dyed any better than it ever has been, but the natural color showing through can’t seem to decide  _ where _ to show through, or even what color actually  _ is _ natural, and settles on something different every time someone tries to figure it out.

It doesn’t take long for Mary Keay to come downstairs, either sensing something unusual or merely hearing the clatter of Michael’s overlong limbs nearly sending the entire contents of a shelf onto the floor. The first thing she sees is Gerard standing at the window, and the wariness of her expression is covered over with irritation.

“There you are, where the hell have you  _ been?” _

Before she can say anything else, what was her son turns around. If anything, she looks  _ more _ annoyed. “Gerard,” she sighs.

He hums. He’s decided, for now, to be a  _ him. _ “That’s a name. Not sure if it’s  _ mine, _ anymore.”

“Oh, for… you  _ would _ have to get into this sort of trouble. I swear you do these things just to spite me. You don’t even have the book, do you?”

Gerard starts laughing, he can’t help it. The damn  _ book. _ He completely forgot about it. “You want to know about the book? I  _ burned _ the book. Before any of this even happened, actually. And I don’t  _ care _ how you feel about it.”

_ “Gerard.” _ There’s actual anger in her eyes, but she tamps down on it with another sigh. “There’s no point having this conversation when you aren’t in your right mind. Just come upstairs, I’m sure I have a way to fix this, or at least… control it to some extent.” The calculating look she gives him makes it clear what she actually wants is to control  _ him, _ more than the Spiral’s influence she seems to think he’s just stumbled into unknowingly. So, when she puts a hand on his arm- not flinching at the strange new feeling of his skin- he doesn’t budge.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, actually.” He smiles, and he’s sure it’s a rather unsettling one. “I actually think I’m  _ done _ here. I’m not your son anymore… not that you were  _ ever _ much of a mother to me. So, let go of me, or I will  _ hurt _ you.”

She only returns a humorless smile of her own, clawlike nails digging into his not-quite-skin. “Aren’t you a little old for teenage rebellion by now? You know you don’t believe any of that, or you wouldn’t have come back home in the first place.” She takes a half-step back, spreads her free arm wide. “If you really want to hurt me- do it. But you don’t really want to, do you? So if you’re done acting like a  _ child, _ stop wasting both our time with empty threats and come upstairs.”

Gerard stands like a statue. It shouldn’t be so hard. Just hit her or  _ something, _ it’s not like it’s even possible to do lasting damage to her now, so-

But apparently he hesitates too long, and her eyes spark like she knows she’s won. “That’s what I thought. Come on now, this will all be-”

A sharp gasp cuts off her words. Michael steps back, leaving her to press a hand over the spots of blood appearing where  _ its _ hand just was, and Gerard steps away as soon as her grip releases. There’s a part that wants to do it, now,  _ hurt _ her, it would still be so easy, at least in theory- and another part, only slightly quieter, wants to go get the bandages from the cabinet where she keeps them and apologize. But neither of them belong to the thing that steps back, that ignores Mary entirely and walks back to the door.

“Do you know,” it says lightly, “I just realized I don’t have to prove anything to you.” It twists the handle, and the door opens not onto the street, but back into the Escher-like halls they came from. It holds the door for Michael to enter first, and then something that is no longer Gerard Keay walks back into the Spiral without a second glance.

**Author's Note:**

> this is definitely the most nsfw thing i've ever written even though it's still pretty tame lol... this fandom is influencing me to try new things :)


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